The Iron Coin Chronicles: The Silver Summer
by KyliaQuilor
Summary: Freshman year of college is over, and ADAM is defeated, the Initiative ended. Meanwhile, Xander still has the Coin, and still seeks to use it to help his friends - while Fate comes up with a newer, far more dire plan to rid themselves of the nuisance he represents. The Jester, however, isn't ready to lose his fun just yet - and so the Silver Summer must begin.
1. Installment 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Buffy.

No, your eyes are not deceiving you. Iron Coin Chronicles is BACK, baby!

I was actually planning to get this written, or at least started, back in September or October, but for various reasons, I didn't end up doing that. I did have to take a long break after ending ICC Season 2, which really did take a lot out of me, but I'm back and ready to do the Silver Summer.

Now, unlike the between Seasons 1 and 2 Interquel, Silent Summer, Silver Summer will not be one chapter in total. I can't say how many chapters it will be, but as with splitting ICC "Episodes" into two chapters, I don't have the time or capacity to really write the longer bits I used to.

Regardless, as I ease back into the Coinverse, these chapters won't even be as long as the chapters that were "part" of a latter-parts of Season 2 Episode. Probably around 4-5k a pop, at a guess. Maybe more, maybe less, depending on things.

Thanks are, once again, extended to Starway Man and Deiticlast for their assistance as beta-readers and sounding boards.

Iron Coin Chronicles: The Silver Summer

By Kylia

Installment 1

**May 14th, 2000**

**Private Room, Sunnydale Public Library**

"So, anyway, Colonel McNamara has been relieved of his command over the Initiative," Riley said. "Dr. Angleman assures me that the people behind the project have been convinced that it's simply not worthwhile or feasible, to continue on like we have. Weaponizing demons and vampires - hostile sub-terrestrials - proved to be... bad idea." He could have told them that after a few encounters with what he'd even then still called HSTs without a hint of irony - but no one had told him that was the plan.

"That is - that is gratifying to hear, though I cannot say I feel certain these individuals are telling you the truth." Giles said carefully. "Regardless, the Council has told me they have spoken to their people at Number 10 Downing Street - and they have asked that the Prime Minister personally convey their dissatisfaction - and his - regarding the Initiative to the President."

"All well and good, yes - but just how much effect do you expect that to have, Mr. Giles?" Wesley asked, with a raised eyebrow. "Since the end of the Cold War, the American government has largely proceeded to pretend the rest of the world doesn't exist. Why would this be any different?"

"Hey, Brits, diss America on your own time, okay? Or I'll toss your tea in the ocean, do the Boston Tea Party all over again." Faith said, grinning a bit as she said that. She sounded both serious, and yet not - but then again, as far as Riley could tell, Faith was always like that. When she and Buffy had gotten up from their almost coma-like state, she'd started making jokes about the ways the Slayers before her and Buffy had died. Which is apparently what their entire coma had been - endless visions of every death of all the countless Slayers before them.

She'd pretended it was nothing, but Riley could tell that Faith was covering. Not only because of his own training in the field of psychology - he hadn't been Dr. Walsh's psych class TA for nothing - but because he'd seen that look in her eyes before. Seen it in the eyes of war veterans who'd been through the kind of things that led to PTSD.

Riley didn't think Faith was that far gone, not exactly, but he couldn't imagine that any of the people here didn't have traces of it, in one form or another. Not after half the things he'd heard about them going through.

Riley sometimes wondered if he himself was dealing with PTSD, or something like it too. Events within the Initiative after ADAM had let loose all the demon captives hadn't gone anywhere near as badly as they could have, thanks in large part to Buffy and Faith, but...

They'd been bad enough, and he had already had nightmares about it. Mild ones, true, but still.

But Riley also knew the dangers of self-diagnosis.

Unfortunately, there wasn't a therapist available he could talk this out with. None that were cleared to speak about this within the military, and he couldn't talk about a classified project with a civilian.

Well, okay, _more_ civilians.

Buffy had also made light of her experiences in the coma, though differently than Faith - but he could pick up that she too had been affected. His girlfriend was... a little less bright, a little more withdrawn. Just a touch, just a hint. But it was there. Buffy always seemed to prefer to keep part of herself from him, to herself, but now it seemed more acute.

All he could do was be there for her.

In a perfect world, she too - she, and Faith, and everyone else could go to a therapist, work through all the sh- the stuff they'd all been through. How many times had all of them nearly died, or had their minds invaded by magic, or otherwise been through things that would drive most normal people insane?

Probably way more than he was comfortable contemplating.

"Don't even think about it, Faith," Wesley said flatly, then shook his head. "Still, we should get back on point."

"Thank you," Riley nodded, and then he let out a sigh. "There's a lot going on, and most of it way above my clearance level, unfortunately. But the long and short of what I was told, really, is that the top brass is still unhappy about the idea of leaving the fight against demons and vampires - or HSTs, as I'm still supposed to call them - just to you guys. But until the people in charge of this charlie-foxtrot have a more suitable plan to deal with the enemy, they've decided the Hellmouth is safe in your hands. I think I convinced them that they shouldn't try to interfere again." He looked to Buffy. "No jostling your elbow. Or anything like that."

"That's good news, at least. And no one will be after Willow?" Buffy asked, letting out a small sigh.

"No. None of you will have to worry about being kidnapped or arrested or anything, no. I've been given assurances by the person in charge of the project." Riley didn't know the name of the man in charge, nor exactly what position he held. He had spoken to him though, by video conference, albeit briefly. Dr. Angleman had said the man with no name was part of the Defense Intelligence Agency, though that didn't make a lot of sense to Riley - but then again, it was hardly Riley's area of expertise. The man was a civilian, though, not an officer, so he was obviously with the Department of Defense in some fashion.

"Can we trust him?" Cordelia asked, and Riley hesitated a moment, not sure how to answer that as she barrelled on. "I mean, let's face it, the Initiative isn't really doing much to make me trust my own government, if they can put a psycho like Walsh in charge and come up with a plan as brain-dead as making ADAM in the first place."

Riley opened his mouth to answer her question, but now Buffy interrupted.

"It doesn't matter if we can trust them or not. If anyone comes gunning for Willow, or anyone else, we'll stop them." She said with unbreakable certainty, looking around the table. "Besides..." she added, "if the Initiative big shots really are done trying to turn 'HSTs' into weapons, they've got nothing to come back here for." Riley could hear Buffy's air quotes around HSTs, even if she didn't make the motion itself.

"Well, Angleman deleted all of Dr. Walsh's research data. There might be backups somewhere, or at least part of them, but I think the man I spoke to was being honest when he said all demon research operations have been terminated." Riley said. He sighed.

"And what about you?" Buffy asked, reaching over towards him. Riley held her hand as she offered it, taking a deep breath.

"I'm currently on suspension, pending a review of all my actions and decisions." Riley admitted. "At the very least, I was promised that I wouldn't be going to Fort Leavenworth over this, but that's about all I was promised." Of course, he could still go to some other, much more secret prison. A black site, somewhere. But he didn't think it was likely. Or maybe he just hoped.

"After you saved so many people?" Buffy exclaimed, confused.

"I broke the rules, Buffy. Lots of them. The end doesn't justify the means - I disobeyed direct orders, misused military equipment - and the system can't work if the chain of command doesn't mean something." Riley shook his head. "I'd say the odds are fifty-fifty they let me stay in the military."

"Figures - you put yourself out there to save their asses, and your head ends up on the chopping block," Faith rolled her eyes.

"It's a little more complicated than that," Riley said, feeling a need to defend the rules that could be used to eject him from the service.

He hoped it didn't come to that. The Initiative had been... complicated, but Riley didn't want his career in the Army to end here. One way or another, being a soldier had been his dream since childhood. It didn't work out like seven year old Riley Finn had thought it would, true, but it was still his duty, and - he liked being in the Army. The structure, the system, the feeling like being part of something greater than just himself.

It was his life. Had been his life for years. He'd always figured he'd wear the uniform and defend the country to the best of his ability until he had to retire.

But thanks to this particular tour of duty, he _had_ violated some pretty important rules. Doing the right thing wasn't necessarily a great defense, when facing a military tribunal to account for your actions. When he'd told Graham about being put on suspension, his friend had referenced an episode from one of his favorite sci-fi TV shows - Babylon 5. Riley had seen a few episodes, but it wasn't his favorite. Still, the bit Graham had mentioned was funny, if hitting a bit too close to home in his current situation.

Captain Sheridan, who had ended the illegal regime of the tyrant President Clark - but only by leading the starships of Earth against the planet in question, splitting the military of humanity in two. Right, yes, but messy. Apparently, one of the politicians had told him that half the generals in the military wanted Sheridan given a medal, and the other half wanted him shot.

And her first - not serious - proposal was a compromise - give him a medal, then shoot him.

Riley didn't think a firing squad was in his future, nor a medal, but he did wonder if his final fate was going to be some sort of compromise - honorable discharge, maybe, or something along those lines. It would be better than dishonorable discharge, which meant no veterans benefits and a civilian criminal record dogging his heels for the rest of his life.

"Sounds pretty simple to me, but you're the soldier-boy, not me." Faith threw up her hands for a moment in mock-surrender, dragging Riley out of his thoughts.

"It might take them a while to come to a decision. In the meantime," Riley squeezed Buffy's hand, "I'm not going anywhere."

"Good," Buffy smiled for a moment, then she looked around the table. "Anything else? Amy - how - how is Drusilla doing?"

"Better, for a given value of the word," Amy said softly. "That's mostly Spike's work, though. She's no longer actively wanting to kill herself, or trying to starve herself into a hunger coma. So I call that a win."

"Take what you can," Buffy nodded. "Xander, did Willy have anything to say?"

Xander shook his head, "He's happy the Initiative is gone - they were taking away all his customers. But he's saying all the vamps and demons left after... well, after you turned God knows how many of them into chop suey? They're laying low - for now." Xander chuckled at his little joke.

"That's summer in Sunnyhell for you, though, isn't it?" Willow grinned.

Riley couldn't understand how they could take it all so lightly - but then, maybe that was just how they were still sane, after everything these people had been through.

The psychologist in him really wished he could turn them all into a case study about handling the sorts of extreme stresses they'd been under, but he could think of at least five major ethical issues with him being the one to do it, among other concerns. Plus, they'd never agree to it anyway.

Still. He had to admire their ability to handle it. Before meeting them, he hadn't had to know the plural of apocalypse. Or that a plural was even _possible_.

**May 21st, 2000**

**Amy's Dorm Room, UC Sunnydale**

Given that freshman final exams would begin next week, Amy didn't really see the point of staying in her dorm much longer. And next year, she wasn't even sure she wanted to spring for - or rather, ask her dad to spring for - a dorm. She spent so much of her time at Faith's place, anyway.

On the other hand, it was nice to have a place to go back to, when she needed some time alone. Or a place to go when Faith needed some time alone. Those times weren't exactly common, but still, they did happen. Or when they'd had that argument last month, over Drusilla.

_I suppose we'll see how it goes over the summer_. She was technically going to be moving back home for summer break, of course, staying with her dad - but she'd probably spend most nights, and probably most of her days, really, with Faith. So if they ended up finding that it was better if she had a dorm - well, that would work.

Amy loved Faith, more than she'd have ever thought possible before they actually got together, but - were they really ready to move in together? Like, officially?

There was a difference between having a drawer, a toothbrush, a few minor things there, even if she did stay there almost every night anyway, and actually... _moving_ in.

Only one way to find out.

Either way, Amy knew she needed to get most of her stuff in boxes, and get ready to take a trip or two back to her dad's house, drop most of her stuff off there. Shaking her head, she went back to stacking books into boxes, followed by a few assorted odds and ends to even out the box.

She was just closing that box and bending to take it off her desk and move it to the side when she heard the knock on the door. Amy straightened up and walked towards the door. It was Tara, biting her lip nervously - more so than usual - and looking... serious. Very serious.

"Amy," she said softly. "Can I - can I come in?" she asked, swallowing a little, and looking inside, maybe to check if she was alone. Amy was, of course. Her not to be missed roommate (former, soon enough!) was off doing... goddess knew what elsewhere on campus.

Amy nodded and stepped aside, letting Tara walk inside. She closed the door behind the blonde.

"Something wrong?" she asked casually.

"N-no," Tara stuttered, hesitating more than she had recently. She bit her lip and looked down at the ground, nervous and hesitant, unsure and insecure. She swallowed a moment, then looked up to meet Amy's eye.

"You - you've known Willow for a long time, right?" Tara asked, slowly.

"Yeah. Since we were little kids." More than ten years now. First day of 2nd grade. She wondered where Tara was going with this. Was something up with Willow? Amy knew the two other witches in their little 'coven' were close, as in spending a lot of time together, friends. She could imagine that if they got into a fight or - well, a disagreement, since she had trouble seeing Tara 'fight' with anyone - might be upsetting to Tara. Apart from Willow and herself, Amy wasn't sure that Tara had anyone else she was really close to, or even friends with, on campus.

"Did she do something? You guys argue or something?" Amy asked, sitting down on her bed, and gesturing to the chair by her desk, if Tara wanted to sit down as well. The blonde nodded gratefully and sat down, biting her lip again before speaking.

"She didn't do anything wrong or - the opposite, really. It's just -" Tara swallowed and started over. "You've known her for so long. It's just - do you... do you think there's any chance that she might - that maybe... that she might -" Tara repeated herself, then stopped to lick her lips.

Amy bit back the urge to ask 'that she might what?'. Rushing Tara wasn't a good idea, especially since she apparently wanted to talk about something weighty and important. Important to her, at least. _Still, it'd be nice if she just came out and said it..._

"Do you think that she might like girls?" Tara finished, speaking quicker than she'd ever heard the other girl speak, though still slower than Xander or Willow's babbling. Especially Willow's.

It took Amy a moment to actually process the question, but only another moment to actually realize what it meant.

And then she mentally slapped herself for not noticing it before now.

_When you stop and think about it, it's pretty fucking obvious._ She'd noticed the way Tara sometimes looked at Willow, the sheer level of worry and upset when Willow had been taken by the Initiative. She hadn't made the connection before, and maybe she shouldn't have, but...

_Tara likes Willow. As in the 'more than friends' way._

Amy said nothing for a time, as she tried to think about that question, and what it meant, and about the prospect of Tara being romantically interested in Willow. In all honesty, Amy could see the blonde being good for Willow. Willow still missed Oz, but much less so than she had been before Tara had really come into the redhead's life. And Tara's calm serenity might help the werewolf control her own inner wolf. Willow had occasionally expressed concerns about that - and it wasn't like Amy hadn't picked up the occasional feeling off Willow regarding it from their connection.

And Willow - well, she'd already helped Tara come out of her own shy shell somewhat, and they had similar interests, but they were hardly identical. Amy wouldn't pretend to be an expert on what made for a good relationship, but... she could see them being a good couple.

The only issue was -

Well, as far as Amy had ever been able to tell, Willow was completely straight.

_Then again, you used to think you were completely straight too, so..._ Well, not so much used to think as used to **know**. It wasn't like she'd ever really thought about her own sexuality like that, until Faith became a vitally important part of her life.

Realizing she should say something, before Tara's own - probably anxious and full of second-guessing - brain started coming up with the worst possible answers for her, Amy started to talk, trying to choose her words carefully while not looking like she was.

"I've never seen anything that would - I mean, I've never seen anything that made me think Willow liked girls," Amy admitted. "I mean... for most of the time I've known her, she was totally hung up on Xander." Even back in 2nd grade, Willow had been dead-set on becoming Mrs. Willow Harris someday. Granted, by the time she was in 5th grade, it had shifted into being Willow Rosenberg-Harris, but the same basic idea was in place.

"I was more than a little surprised when she first started dating Oz, really," Amy admitted. But then later, when word first went public about Xander and Cordelia, that part made sense. Willow had to have known a lot sooner about those two hooking up than when the rumor hit the school gossip mill, and that might have been what had finally got her friend looking at the other fish in the sea, so to speak.

Still didn't help Tara though, and Amy took a breath. She looked at her fellow witch, and saw the unsurprised, but still totally crestfallen expression on the other girl's face. _Shit. She has it bad._ This wasn't just some 'I think she's cute' passing fancy.

This was a full on crush.

"I - I... I assumed as much." Tara said softly, quietly, almost weakly. "I... it's just - sometimes... sometimes she did - and then I'd wonder..." she swallowed, looking down. Amy could feel the despair and upset and hurt coming across their connection from Tara, and she could only imagine how much worse it had to be for Tara herself to feel it. Willow would be feeling it too, more muted at a greater distance, but without any way to know what it was, what it was that was upsetting Tara.

"Yeah, but that doesn't - that doesn't mean you should just -" Amy started, then she realized how stupid that was, before she could say 'you shouldn't just give up hope'. Of course she should give up hope, right? If Willow really was straight - which Amy had no reason to believe she wasn't - than there was nothing Tara could do. Pining uselessly for the unattainable would be just that - useless.

Still, she felt - she felt like she should leave Tara with some hope. Selfishly, Amy just wanted to stop feeling the despair that was coming off of the other witch. But -

That would be using her friend for her own benefit, and Amy didn't want to end up doing that either. Still - she could be honest, without giving Tara any reason to hope beyond what she'd already had, right? It wasn't as if it was impossible that Willow might actually return Tara's affections. They were close enough otherwise that it was possible, right?

"Uh, I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'm not sure - I'm not sure if I'm really a good judge of that, Tara." Amy admitted after a breath. "I mean - I'm not really very good at, like... noticing these things. About anyone. I mean - most of my life, I thought _I_ was completely straight - so - I mean..." Amy trailed off helplessly, unsure what else she could say.

Even leaving aside not wanting to feel Tara's despair, Amy very much didn't want _Tara_ to feel despair coming from her.

Tara offered her a small, sad smile as she looked up. "You're just trying to make me feel better."

Amy didn't bother denying it. "I am... but it is true, Tara. I'm really not a good judge of these things. It is possible - I mean, Willow could like you back. Goddess knows she thinks the world of you as it is."

"It's a nice thought, but..." Tara shook her head, taking a deep breath and letting it out. "I - I shouldn't keep hoping, when it isn't going to happen. Besides - she's my friend. Just having her friendship is enough - goddess, it's **more** than enough." She corrected herself. "She deserves better than to have - have me..." she trailed off for a moment, then picked up strength. "Than have me thinking I can - I can somehow... _convince_ her."

She shook her head again. "I - I just - I just have to focus on our friendship." The resignation - tired, sad, but at least not angry - was easily detectable in Tara's voice.

Amy's own experiences with Faith were enough to let her empathize, but equally, at least she'd known Faith liked girls. She hadn't ever really expected Faith would like _her_ back, despite that, but at least the hypothetical possibility, however slim, was still there. That had almost been tortuous in its own way, but at least...

At least she'd had hope. And then it had all worked out.

_But Tara doesn't really have that option._ So it had to feel even worse for her. Though maybe it would make it easier for her to let go.

An idea struck her. Amy got off the bed and walked over to Tara, grabbing her hand and gently pulling her to her feet before letting go. Tara didn't protest, but she did look at Amy, confused.

"What-" She started, but Amy interrupted.

"We're going to get ice cream." There was an ice cream place not too far from campus. "My treat."

"Wh- why? Why are we-?" Tara half babbled, confused, but she followed Amy out into the hallway. Amy turned back to face Tara, smiling a little and putting a hand on Tara's shoulder.

"If there's one thing romantic comedies have taught me, it's that the traditional remedy among female friends for heartbreak is lots and lots of ice cream." Amy chuckled, then shook her head. "Normally, we'd just pull pints out of the freezer, wear silly pyjamas and watch sappy movies on the couch or something. I don't have a freezer in my dorm, or a couch, but we can still go out and get ice cream."

She dropped her hand to her side. "Look - I just - Tara, you're my friend too. Nothing is going to make this easier overnight, but I think this'll help." Amy smiled again, this time a little wider. "Besides, who can say no to ice cream?"

Tara smiled just a little bit again - still a bit sad, but maybe less so. "You - you're right there, I suppose." She nodded, the smile strengthening a little, even if it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Alright. Ice cream it is."

**May 23rd, 2000**

**Cemetery, Sunnydale**

Buffy had planned to do a joint patrol with Faith here tonight. Usually they covered different areas, but once in a while, they partnered up to really put the fear of Slayers into the local vampire population.

But then Faith had gone off to L.A. with Wesley for some reason. Amy hadn't shared many details - something about a Slayer Dream. And Wesley was going there to pick up some fancy scroll that Angel had called Giles about.

So that left her to do it alone. She'd debated asking Riley to come with her - Buffy knew her boyfriend would, if she asked, or perhaps even if she didn't but he thought he could help - but he'd gone on patrol with her into the early hours of the morning the last two nights. And Riley, while probably one of the most durable and capable normal people she knew, was still limited in stamina compared to a Slayer.

Buffy frowned. On temporary suspended duty, and without anything really to occupy him, Riley had gotten restless. He was still living on campus, at Lowell House, but he was the only one left - the rest of the Initiative's soldiers had been transferred out of Sunnydale, even the ones who'd helped Riley disobey orders - like his friend Graham.

Buffy had been a little surprised by that, since his bosses were supposedly punishing Riley for his actions, but her boyfriend hadn't been that surprised. His explanation hadn't made a whole lot of sense to her either, since it had been so full of military jargon that she would only follow every other word. But after he'd clarified when she'd mentioned that, it basically had boiled down to the fact that Riley figured he was being made into an example.

Which had left him figuring he might be discharged from the military entirely, and sooner rather than later.

Buffy wanted to be upset at the prospect of Riley leaving the Army - mostly because she knew how important his career was to him - but at the same time... well, she didn't like the idea of him being deployed somewhere else, if the Army decided they wanted to do that. Still, ultimately, it should be Riley's choice - he had done nothing wrong, as far as she could tell, in terms of preparing for the fight against ADAM.

His idiot bosses didn't agree, apparently, which was _majorly_ annoying.

So Buffy was patrolling alone tonight, which wasn't likely to be that big of a deal anyway. She'd already dusted two newly risen vampires, and she figured she'd probably run into a few older ones hanging around this cemetery for one reason or another.

Sure enough, the sound of a scream off to the left caught her ear, and jumping up and onto one of the headstones, Buffy practically ran across the headstones, easily leaping from one to the next until she found the source of the screams - a young woman, looked a few years older than her, screaming as a vampire fed on what Buffy guessed was her boyfriend. The bloodsucker was a woman, who looked like she was in her late twenties - but from the way her clothing style seemed frozen in the 70s, she was probably a lot older.

"Hey! Stop that!" Buffy called out. The vampire snarled and looked up, seeing Buffy.

"Slayer!" It growled, like nearly every vampire that knew who she was said. It was like they thought they earned some kind of points if they said it.

"I said stop that," Buffy repeated. She lunged for the vampire, grabbing the back of her shirt and pulling her away from her evening meal. A quick glance at the man suggested he had only been fed on for a few moments, and was still semiconscious.

But Buffy couldn't spare him another look just yet, as the vampire she grabbed broke free of Buffy's grip by the simple expedient of quickly tearing off her blouse, leaving her only in a tight undershirt - no sleeves, straps that covered the straps of her bra, mostly. And leaving Buffy holding a tattered rag of a top. The vampire turned and lunged at her, trying to grab her and throw her. Buffy jumped back, punched out at the vampire, and caught her wrist, sending her arm away from her, while the other hand clawed at Buffy's torso -

But Buffy evaded that quickly enough.

"Were you trying to distract me when you ripped your shirt off?" Buffy asked, ducking under another punch, then kicking the vampire in the stomach, sending her flying backwards and crashing into another headstone, cracking it in two. "Because I'm the wrong Slayer for that to work on, you know." Buffy added.

_Hey, I'm not the one who actually dated a vampire!_ Buffy imagined Faith countering if she was here, which... would be fair enough. But Faith would also take a moment to stare, regardless. Committed to Amy or not, Faith was, in her own words, 'not blind', and the vampire's breasts weren't small.

But, more importantly, this vampire was not joining in on her quipping at all. She wasn't even saying anything, just growling and jumping up, coming at her again.

"Okay, now, you're just no fun at all," Buffy pouted. Pulling out a stake, Buffy waited for the vampire to reach her, and then Buffy dropped to one knee and drove the stake upwards into the woman's heart, dusting her. Buffy pulled away as quick as she could, to avoid getting too much dust on herself, and she quickly brushed the rest of it out of her hair.

A quick glance saw that the woman and her date were already out of the cemetery, the girl propping him up a bit and helping him walk. After a moment, Buffy decided to follow them, make sure they got somewhere safe - but before she'd taken two steps, they suddenly stopped moving.

And everything went silent.

Sunnydale didn't have a lot of native animal life - not a whole lot of birds or dogs or whatever - but it did have crickets, like everywhere else. And now, suddenly, the crickets were no longer chirping.

Tightening her grip on her stake, Buffy slowly looked around, turning, and then -

"Well, that vampire might not have been much fun," a wholly unfamiliar voice said, as she finished turning.

Standing on a nearby mausoleum was a man. Maybe Xander's height, Buffy figured, but it was hard to tell. He wore a dark blue suit, light blue collared shirt, and a dark blue tie. The suit looked fancy and expensive, like the sort of thing her dad's bosses would wear. He had tanned skin, and short black hair, trimmed neat, but not too close to the scalp.

In one hand, he was flipping a coin idly. The coin sparkled silver in the starlight, and seemed to catch the light of the moon, even though it wasn't really in a good position to do that.

"But you... you, little girl. You've actually been more fun than I'd have ever expected." The man chuckled, then dropped down from the mausoleum with ease, landing on the ground without a sound, and walking towards her.

"Who are you?" Buffy demanded, raising her hand with the stake up, as well as her empty hand, bracing herself to run. Her Slayer senses were screaming at her louder than she ever hard felt them before - this... this was no human. This didn't even feel like a demon, or at least not like any other demon she'd ever faced.

"I go by many names." The man snarked, grinning. He walked closer, and Buffy stepped back. The man flipped the coin in his hand again, then let it land on the back of his other hand. He looked at it. "Tails. You lose."

"I lose?" Buffy raised an eyebrow, then mock-pouted. "And here I was thinking I could win a year's supply of Rice-A-Roni, the San Francisco Treat."

The man laughed, throwing his head back and howling with mirth.

_Okay, hello to the creepiness. It wasn't that funny._ Not that Buffy minded her little joke getting a response, but still. She tried to step back again as he finished laughing and took another step towards her, but her heel brushed up against stone...

Buffy turned, then blinked in surprise. There was a headstone behind her, one that hadn't been moments before, and it was as tall as she was.

_Did he just-_

"Yes. I like you. Not as much as your friend, of course, but I've decided that I like you." He gestured at her, wagging a finger pointed towards her. "Please stop trying to move back, it's really not worth my time to throw up more obstacles, and we really do need to have a little chat."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Everyone has a Choice, Slayer. Choice is the greatest gift of Chaos. Choice, Choice, and nothing but Choice. All the world's a choice, and everything always comes down to it. That's the life - life of you, life of some worm somewhere, and the life of even something so high as me." He was still flipping the coin as he spoke, effortlessly flipping, catching, flipping, catching. The motion was almost mesmerizing, and Buffy had to figure it was related to...

Whatever power he seemed to have.

_Okay, first step, stop him flipping the-_

_**Really now, Slayer, when I asked you to stop running, I didn't think you'd start coming up with pathetic strategies to attack me.**_

Buffy's eyes widened as she heard the man's voice in her head - but his lips hadn't moved, and her ears hadn't heard a thing and he'd responded to her -

"DId you just-?! Did you just read my mind?" Buffy demanded.

The man chuckled, "No, not exactly, but I suppose that's how you'd put it. What with your limited mortal perceptions."

"Limited mortal perceptions?" Buffy couldn't help but roll her eyes. "You sound like a bad cliche."

"I object to that!" The man replied, voice thick with mock-offence. "Bad cliches sound like _me_. Make sure you get it right, Slayer." He stepped closer again, and Buffy got a good look at his eyes. Perhaps unsurprisingly, they were entirely inhuman. No irises, just solid blue, a little lighter than his tie and suit. Buffy would have thought all that blue might be a fashion mistake, but the guy made it work, somehow.

"Who - what are you?" Buffy demanded. She dropped her arms down to her side, suspecting her stake would be useless.

"Like I said, I go by many names. Your friend - Harris, the would have been pirate. He likes to call me 'bastard'. He has other names for me too, of course, but that's his favorite. Well, that and - his source."

_Would have been pirate?! What does that -_

Buffy was still processing that non sequitur that she almost didn't catch the last two words. But then, her brain made the connection. _His source...that means..._

"You - you're... you're Xander's source?" Buffy didn't realize her voice was shaking in shock until she'd finished speaking. _This_ was the person Xander had met before their senior year of high school had started, who had started feeding him information? _This _was the guy who -

Her mind flashed back to Xander's death in the wishverse, when he'd given her a coin made of iron, saying it had something to do with his source...

_What exactly did he say, back then?_ Buffy tried to remember her friend's words, but they were escaping her mind just now.

Still, that coin... it had been the same size as the one the man was flipping looked to be. Different color, yeah, but the same size.

"In a manner of speaking." He answered her previous, semi-rhetorical question. "As I said, I have many many names. But you can call me - The Jester." He smirked, then laughed at some private joke for a moment. "And you and I, Buffy Anne Summers, are about to know each other quite well."


	2. Installment 2

**Disclaimer: **Not Mine.

Oof, I'm sorry about the long delay. As usual. I did not mean to take four months and change to do the second installment. As I've learned to now, I'm not going to try to make promises or predictions as to when you can expect more though.

Thanks to Starway Man and Deiticlast for beta-reading and creative consultancy.

Iron Coin Chronicles: The Silver Summer

By Kylia

Installment 2

**May 23rd, 2000**

**Cemetery, Sunnydale**

"The Jester?" Buffy looked him over... she didn't see what was particularly funny about him. Shouldn't jesters wear those funny little hats? The ones with all the bells and multicolored, like in the movies with castles and princesses and stuff?

"If you're about to tell me I'm not dressed right for the part, don't bother," the Jester told her flatly.

"Sore spot?" Buffy raised an eyebrow.

"I'd be offended by the implication, if your words and opinions mattered to me," the Jester replied, then stopped flipping the coin in his hand, producing a deck of cards from his sleeve and shuffling it. Buffy wondered if he ever stopped moving his hands, busying them with something.

"Sounds like you're offended and don't want to admit it," Buffy quipped, smirking a little. "Xander must _love_ talking to you."

"Not as much as I love talking to him. He's quite entertaining, for something so insignificant. And so are you," the Jester continued to shuffle the cards, then flourished them from one hand to the other, like he was about to do a card trick.

"And yet you're bothering with insignificant worms like us. Sounds familiar," Buffy replied. Lots of demons and vampires had tried to declare her and her friends nothing against them...

Pretty much all of them were dead.

"And that's useful segue, thank you," the Jester chuckled. "I'll try to be as brief as I can, but still allow you to understand. I am a Power of Chaos, one of the Three Corners of it, in fact." Buffy could practically hear the capital letters as he spoke. "Chaos is but one of the primal forces that move reality. You might be more familiar with two of them - Good and Evil."

"I've heard of them," Buffy deadpanned. _So there really is a big capital G Good in the world. Would have been nice for them to help out once or twice. Does Whistler work for them? He said something about maintaining balance, though_. She didn't remember much more than about her conversation with the demon in question, beyond threatening to make him wear his ribcage as a hat.

"Well, there's a fourth one. One you don't think about. Fate."

"Fate." Buffy blinked. _Fate. Destiny. I'm the Chosen One, so... yeah. That makes sense._

"Fate. They don't really control everything you do. That's micromanagement. Ultimately, they're concerned about the big picture stuff - keeping galaxies spinning, the speed of light constant, the dimensions separated from one another. That sort of thing. They _**do**_ interfere directly here and there, and sad to say, you feature pretty prominently in their plans for this planet in this dimension."

"Which means...?" Buffy prompted, glaring at him - to no avail.

The Jester flicked his hand and the cards flew in a small storm at her, but as Buffy raised her arms to block them, they all vanished before they reached her.

"Imagine, if you will, that your life is a book. That everyone's life is one giant book," the Jester said. "Most things that most people do, they write for themselves in that book. You woke up this morning and chose to have three bowls of cereal and two bananas. No one made you do that."

_I should be a little creeped out; he knows what I had for breakfast, but he can read my thoughts so..._

"But sometimes... well, you _**don't**_ write what happens in your book," the Jester added vaguely.

"If you're about to tell me free will is an illusion..." Buffy warned. She'd had enough of that from one of her professors that thought he was teaching philosophy, not English Lit. Not that English Lit had always been that much comprehensible.

"No, no, nothing that simple. You have free will - most of the time. All the time, really, when you get right down to it," the Jester shook his head. "At least, as you'd understand it."

_You really like drawing attention to 'you mortal, you dumb', don't you, Joker-man? _Buffy thought to herself in annoyance.

The Jester went on, his tone suddenly in earnest, rather than the cheery joke-y, amused-by-everything one he'd been offering for most of his talking up to now. "When Fate writes something in someone's book, then it bends the universe to make it happen. It's more complicated than just 'David crashed his car into a tree'. Everything is forced into alignment to make it happen - unless something unexpected happens. Something Fate didn't account for." There was a smug note in his voice there.

"You, I take it?"

"Among others. Chaos exists to muck up Fate, just as Fate exists to constrain Chaos. We're always at odds - but Fate always seems to think they can somehow get everything _just_ right, and then... well, we won't be able to fuck them over." He grinned almost manically, "It never works, much to their annoyance."

"None of this really answers why you help Xander, or what you want with me, or... really, anything else?" Buffy wasn't sure what she was supposed to think about the news that Fate sometimes... what, re-wrote reality to make things happen? How did that even work? She was still trying to make sense of this.

Buffy knew she shouldn't just take this guy at his word either, but somehow, she knew he wasn't lying. He seemed smug and smarmy enough to omit, misrepresent... but not _lie_.

_But how do I know he's not lying? Why am I so __**sure**__ of it?_

"You should care because Fate tried to kill you. Twice, actually," the Jester told her, chuckling. "Oh yes, you're not supposed to be alive."

"I'm one of the few Slayers to last as long as I have. That's not really surprising. I did die once," Buffy pointed out.

"By prophecy at that, too," the Jester agreed. "Had Fate had their way, you'd have _**stayed**_ dead. Thing is, they never stopped to think about your friend. Mr. Harris... he was too normal, too standard, too mortal to bother with. I guess they never figured he'd matter. But since they didn't account for him..." He trailed off.

Buffy followed his logic. "That's how Xander was able to save my life that night."

"Indeed. And had he not shown up when he did to interfere when you went up against your undead boyfriend and Acathla, you'd have died there too. Stopped Acthla still, but dead all the same," the Jester chuckled. "It was such a small thing he did, but it changed everything. Harris ruined Fate's plans _again_... he became something more than human. He took a tiny, miniscule amount of Chaos into himself - at that point, even if Fate wanted to write him out of their way, they couldn't."

"So Xander is a special Fate-ruiner?"

"Not exactly. Not in and of himself. Lots of people end up becoming unwriteable by Fate, you see. It hardly matters, either; Fate usually just writes... around them, so to speak. But I took a liking to your friend, and decided to interfere." The Jester stopped flipping his coin.

"And gave him a coin. Made of... steel, or iron." Buffy said, thinking back to that alternate universe she'd found herself in.

"And just how did you know-" The Jester looked at her pointedly, then chuckled. "Ha! Well, isn't **that** interesting. I suppose I need to have someone go and have a word with D'Hoffy."

Buffy started to ask what the heck he was talking about - he must have read her mind again - and the Jester waved a hand dismissively. "It doesn't matter. You're very unlikely to ever have to worry about that little big man. Fourth-dimensional being obsessed with pretending he's a true Power."

"Points. Do you have them, or do you need me to show you what one feels like?" Buffy raised up her stake, even if she was pretty sure she'd not be able to hurt this guy - at least, not so easily. _Sooner or later I could find a way to hurt him. Right?_ They'd found a way to beat everything else, so... probably.

The Jester chuckled at her threat, "So feisty! But yes, I did give Harris my Iron Coin." Once more Buffy heard the capital letters. "To summarize it for the mortal studio audience, it lets the user get a 'peek' at Fate's book for any given person. Which is how your friend's often been able to stop some things from happening." He shook his head, still grinning. "Not everything, of course, but he's consistently thrown all kinds of wrenches into Fate's plan. Very amusing wrenches, at that! If not for Harris and my Coin, your sister Slayer should be in prison right now, and her girlfriend should be a rat... Xander's dating the wrong person entirely, according to Fate's plans..." The Jester actually threw his head back and laughed uproariously for a minute, like a cartoon character. "Chaos. **That** is the point."

_Faith in prison... yeah, I suppose that could have happened. Amy should be a rat, though? I don't - when would that have happened? And Xander dating the wrong person? How is that supposed to work?_ By this point, Buffy couldn't imagine Xander being with anyone other than Cordelia.

It had been over two years, after all. Those two managed to avoid being too sickly-sweet together, at least where she could see; but all Buffy had to do was look at them and see how much in love they were.

_Oh, wait. Maybe Cordy would have left town, after her family lost all their money?_ That was the only thing Buffy could think of, and even that didn't make much sense. Cordelia didn't really like living in Sunnydale, sure, but she couldn't see the woman just up and moving away from Xander either.

_Yeah. So none of that makes any sense._

His hand on his chest, the Jester finished laughing and straightened back up, twisting his neck in a decided unnatural way, then looking back at her.

"In short, Harris has changed a lot. But Fate tried to respond - that's how and why the wolf-boy got killed."

_Wait. __**Fate**__ killed Oz?_ Buffy inhaled sharply, feeling a sudden cold anger burning at the idea that Oz's death hadn't been a tragic accident, that someone had **deliberately** put Willow through that, had **murdered **her friend...

Someone trying to kill her - well, that was par for the course. Her friends were off-limits, though. Always had been, always would be.

"You're telling me all this because you want something from me," Buffy said, eager to hear what it was now. If it meant hurting the people who killed Oz... "You stopped Xander from telling anyone about you, and about that coin of yours. Right?"

"I did. It's more fun when he can't just tell everyone what's coming, of course. Watching Harris try to talk around the issue, convince everyone he knows what's coming without actually saying it, work around the problem." He started flipping his coin again. "He still won't be able to tell you, and if you try to tell him that _you_ know now... well, you'll have the same coughing fits he has a penchant for. Push the issue, and I'll just take this back." He flipped his silver coin at her, and as much on instinct as any deliberate action, Buffy caught it easily in one hand.

"Fate tried to stop Xander Harris from acting. They failed. Then they tried to write around him. Plan for him. That didn't work, either. So now, they've decided on something a little more... direct. Your friend's a hunted man now. Fate's sent some of their... favorite killers, for want of a better term... to just get rid of him, once and for all."

Buffy stared at him, waiting for him to go on, tell her more about these killers, how she was supposed to stop them. _I suppose a new threat was always going to happen._ "And I'm supposed to fight them. With a coin? Do I flip it at them, or what?"

"Something like that," the Jester pointed. "Go ahead, flip it."

Buffy looked at him, then at the coin. After a moment, she rolled her eyes and flipped it, her thumb pushing it up and into the air... it came down, towards her hand, she caught it, about to say nothing happened when suddenly she wasn't holding a coin, but the hilt of a three foot-long sword. It looked like it was made of pure solid silver, but when she ran her hand over the blade, it felt as sharp as a real sword.

Despite weighing less than a stake, it felt like.

"Possibility. The Silver Coin is possibility and probability both - weaponized." He was now juggling three coins - gold, copper, and... maybe tin? It was hard to say on the last one. It was a dark and dull sort of grey. "Every hit you _can_ make, you will make. Works against regular enemies too, but it's also the only way you're going to be able to hurt the fourth-dimensional killers that are coming for Harris."

"You keep talking about - fourth dimensional... what does that even mean? You sneer when you're saying it. What are you, fifth dimensional or something? Is this... some sort of dimensional racism? That's a thing now?" Buffy scoffed at the idea, but then... none of this made a lick of sense, and she could barely wrap her head around it. She was pretty sure thinking about all this was going to end up driving her mad for weeks, at least.

_I think it's been driving Xander a little crazy, since it started for him._ Now that she thought about it, all this explained _so much_ about Xander over the last... two years? Had to be two years, based on Xander's behavior, on what this guy was saying...

"Fifth dimensional? Don't insult me," the Jester scoffed, not sounding remotely offended. "I'm a 23-dimensional superspace being, you might say. But the thing that's actually talking to you is a ninth dimensional fragment occupying a fifth dimensional space interfacing with your ridiculously boring third dimension." He tossed, then caught all three of his coins in one hand and started to flip them between his fingers. "You know, the place where cause precedes effect, gravity pulls things towards large masses and time moves only in a linear direction. Boring, as I said."

Buffy stared at him... and then decided she didn't even want to deal with it. 23-dimensional superspace? Ninth dimensional fragments?

What was more important was that someone, or rather something - several somethings, from the sounds of it - was coming to kill Xander.

"So, bottom line, you want me to keep Xander alive?"

"_**You**_ want you to keep Xander alive, unless I've missed something. I, personally, just want to keep things... interesting," the Jester corrected. "Granted, things will remain more interesting if my Iron Coin-bearer stays alive hence why you now have my Silver coin now. So when the Legion of Necessity comes for Harris, you can actually kill them."

"A whole Legion?" Buffy swallowed a moment, wondering how she was supposed to take on that many enemies at once.

"No, no. Just a detachment. A few dozen discrete entities, but they won't all come at once. Probably."

_Gee, thanks for that vote of confidence._ Buffy looked at him, wishing she could use this sword against this clown - though she doubted it would work. _I don't suppose there's any chance you'd find it amusing to give me some extra clues about these legion guys, so that I actually have a chance of surviving the upcoming battle and saving Xander?_

The Jester smirked, and then laughed. He went on, "The Legion of Necessity is one of Fate's more capable lower-order soldiers, for dealing with lower-order threats. Raven Knights, Dimensional Gremlins, that sort of thing. Overkill to send them for piddly-little Harris, really - but then, the Strategem never was one for just enough kill." He waved a hand. "Force of Fate, you don't need to know. Point is, they're being sent to kill him. You'll recognize them because... well, to you they'd look like what you'd call angels cosplaying as ancient Roman soldiers. To most people, humans and demons alike, they'll just look like normal people. Most of the time. Until they sense Chaos. Like your sword."

Buffy had tensed until he clarified that last bit. She didn't want anyone to think she was running around killing people. The cops would be bad enough... but she didn't want her friends to think she was killing people. When she _wasn't_.

"So they get near me or Xander-"

"And they break out the sharp, pointy bits of metal - and it won't be pretty. We're talking violence, strong language, adult content. All the viewer warnings," the Jester replied, and Buffy just _knew_ the guy was mocking her deliberately.

"If they decide to come after Xander, they'll find out what happens when you roughhouse," Buffy said, remembering that first fight in Sunnydale. Darla and that... other guy. The one who looked like DeBarge.

"I suppose they will. Stay alert, Slayer. They'll be here soon." The Jester's blue eyes seemed to twinkle with mirth, like Santa in those old-timey Coca-Cola commercials, and then he vanished, an explosion of playing cards filling the air where he'd been quickly flying towards her and everywhere else - Buffy didn't bother to try to raise her arms to block them this time, and sure enough, they disappeared before they could hit her.

Buffy stared at the spot for a moment, then twirled the sword in her hand. It was so light it nearly flew out of her hand entirely, but she managed to tighten her grip at the last second.

_I'm going to have to learn how to use this particular sword properly._ Same techniques, yeah, but the balance would be completely off. Buffy wondered how she was supposed to make it a coin again... and what would happen when someone else saw her use it. Should she hide that she had a magic sword? Could she? She couldn't tell anyone where she got it, if she was to believe the Jester - and given what happened to Xander, when he'd tried to share details this Jester didn't want shared...

She believed him.

Buffy suddenly had a thought, and she looked at the sword. "It can't be that simple. Can it?" She tossed it up in the air like she might a knife, ready to catch it by the hilt if she had to... but by the time it fell back down... it was a silver coin again. "Huh... I guess it can!"

Buffy looked the thing over. It looked like it had a heads and tails, but the symbols were worn away to the point of being unrecognizable.

_I have no idea what I'm getting into, but I'll be damned if I let the bastards who killed Oz kill Xander too._

**June 16th, 2000**

**17619 White Oak Drive, Sunnydale**

Cordelia let out an aggravated sigh, as she stepped through the door into the living room. Xander immediately muted the TV, and walked over to meet her by the door. Despite her exasperation, Xander smiled teasingly as he put a hand on her shoulder.

"And now that your first week of employment is done, how do you feel about being a working stiff?"

Cordelia grounded as she took off her heels. "The _worst_. The stupid questions, the people trying to demand a discount they aren't supposed to have... the standing around all day! Especially in _those_." She gestured to the heels she had to wear while working at April Fools. Xander knew more about women's shoes since dating Cordelia than he did two years ago, so he knew these were relatively comfortable ones, with a small heel - but standing for eight hours in them was still probably no fun at all.

Cordelia walked to the couch, Xander sitting next to her after she did. She pulled her legs onto the couch and put her feet on his lap. Xander chuckled, but then he obliged his girlfriend, rubbing her feet gently - which caused her to make a sound he normally only heard, when they were alone in their bedroom.

"How do you manage it?" Cordy asked, looking over at him. "I mean, I just stand around and walk in a small space - which is bad enough! But you? You have to work outside in the sun and carry heavy stuff, and all that other heavy labor."

"Well, I don't have to deal with idiot customers, so I think we might be kinda even," Xander suggested, not entirely unseriously. Cordelia, though, glared at him, and Xander shrugged. "Sure, it's harder work physically, but - and not to get all male chauvinist here, honey - I am stronger than you, physically. Plus, I've been at it for months, and we're not exactly wearing heels on-site." The mental image of himself and his coworkers all wearing heels while working on a construction site, climbing ladders in them. He laughed at the thought.

"What's so funny?" Cordelia narrowed her eyes, and Xander explained his sudden thought. "Nah. You wouldn't look good in heels."

"Definitely not arguing with you there," Xander agreed quickly. He shrugged again. "Seriously, though? I actually _like_ working in construction. I mean, it's exhausting most days, and some days I'd rather not go, and I'll treasure every day off like this one, but still. It's... kinda fun. It's _**satisfying**_, actually building something with your hands and your tools, getting everything set right. A challenge too." He looked over at her, smirking. "You, on the other hand, hate your job, so it sucks even more than it would anyway."

"I don't... _hate_ my job," Cordelia protested, but Xander raised an eyebrow, not even needing to say anything - his skeptical expression made it pretty clear to his girlfriend how unconvincing she was.

_Very_.

"Okay, fine, yes, I do hate my job," Cordelia admitted. "At least parts of it. Mostly, I hate being a name-tag person and having to deal with everyone thinking they're better than me." She grimaced, "Especially my former classmates. And they're all home from college for summer vacation and everything, too."

"Wait, so did one of the Cordettes actually show up at the shop?" Xander figured he'd have heard about that sooner if it happened during the week before today.

Cordelia shook her head, "No. At least not yet. But it's probably going to happen. Well, at least if any of them ask about Harmony, I can just say Sunnydale happened." She let out a long breath, silent for a moment. Probably thinking about her friend - not the undead version that Faith had killed months ago after the Vampire Amy from another dimension recruited her, but the one that had died when she got turned in the first place.

But Cordelia only lingered on that for a moment - she'd had time to come to terms with it already.

"But at least today was the last day of the work week, and it was payday. The whole reason I'm doing this." She laughed, "The smell of money makes it worth it... mostly." She pulled her feet off of his lap and sat up, looking over at him. "You're sure you're cool with me just putting it all aside?"

"I can keep covering room and board. Not like my mom charges that much," Xander assured her. "The more you - and I - save up money, the faster we can move into a place of our own." His mother was happy to let them stay here while Cordelia went to college, but Xander didn't want to live with her until Cordelia graduated, and his mother didn't _want_ them to either.

_Plus, then we'd never have to worry about her walking in._ Okay, so his mom wasn't an idiot or super-nosy and she always knocked just in case, and his mother had never actually interrupted them while they were 'busy', but still.

"I'm going to keep my eyes open for places. Check the classifieds, weigh pros and cons," Cordelia said. "Get some ideas. I'm thinking we don't actually do anything until fall, and I have to move to working part time," she added, being very pragmatic and rational about money. Just as she had always been - even before she lost it all, she'd been pragmatic about money. She'd just had more of it.

"Makes sense to me." Xander was pretty sure that he'd have very little trouble letting Cordelia handle their finances entirely in the future. As much as she liked nice things and as much as she liked shopping, Cordy was never going to actually spend it frivolously, when she knew they couldn't afford it.

_If my girl figured out how to make it rich on the stock market overnight like a character in a movie, I wouldn't be surprised by that._ Not that he figured she'd actually try it.

"That's what I like about you, Xander!" Cordelia poked him lightly, "You don't try to do things you know I'm better at than you."

"So... pretty much everything?" Xander joked. "Except cooking. Which, speaking of, I'm going to get started on making dinner." He stood up, leaning down to give his girlfriend a quick kiss and headed into the kitchen.

God, he loved his girlfriend.


	3. Installment 3

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, as per usual, yada, yada.

This chapter brought to you by, of all things, Comic Sans. Thanks extended to deiticlast and Starway Man for their beta-reading services, as always. They put up with my shitty schedule for this, which, let me tell you, is quite the burden I lay on them. :P

Iron Coin Chronicles: The Silver Summer  
By Kylia  
Installment 3

**May 24th, 2000**

**Wesley's Apartment, Sunnydale**

Moving around in a wheelchair was not easy. Especially since his apartment wasn't exactly laid out with one in mind. Fortunately, Wesley wouldn't have to be in this damned thing for that long. His injuries from the explosion were not minor, but they were not so severe he'd be crippled for life. Or even for longer than a few weeks.

Still. Moving around was easier said than done, and he'd settled for ending up in front of his couch, rather than trying to move his chair out of the way and sit at his desk. He paged through the book in his lap, trying to learn more about the demons Faith and Angel had faced to recover the Scrolls.

The name Vocah sounded familiar, but 'a soldier of darkness' as Angel had said the Oracles called him, was not a particularly specific description. It was perhaps irrelevant, since Vocah was dead, except that there had been another demon just like him, that Faith had faced one just like him, however briefly. And he'd escaped.

Wesley closed the book and set it aside on the couch, frowning. Nothing. Nothing about Vocah or his species in three of his, historically speaking, most useful bestiaries.

_We likely have time to investigate further. Besides, at the very least, the basic manner of their defeat is something Faith does know. _It wasn't urgent.

Something that was, however, was the Scroll of Aberjian. Wolfram and Hart had been using it to summon something, and it was incumbent on him to try to find out what.

And he very much wanted to find out what 'Shanshu' meant.

"Or maybe it's Shushan?" He murmured, the thought occurring to him. The characters were not exactly clear on the...

Wesley rolled the scroll out on his coffee table, wincing a little as he leaned forward, examining the writing on the scroll. It wasn't Aegean. It could have been derived through the Magyar, as he'd thought earlier, but...

Wesley rubbed at his temples and then started to move over to his bookshelves, scanning the titles. What he wouldn't give for some of the reference sources at the Council's headquarters. Of course, then he'd have to let the Council get their hands on the Scroll, and right now, Wesley was not fond of that idea at all.

_They probably wouldn't care one whit that Angel is prophesied to play a major role in the apocalypse._ In fact, they would do everything they could to prevent Angel from finding out any useful information from it, just on general principles.

He frowned, not finding the book he was looking for and then biting back several oaths as he realized the book he needed was on the upper shelf. Wesley debated the merits of forcing himself up to grab it, and was just about to attempt it - when he heard the door to his apartment opening.

It was Faith, almost certainly. She'd absconded with the key he'd given her when she helped him get inside last night, and since he had a spare, he hadn't made an issue of it.

_Besides, it's better for my Slayer to have access to my place if she urgently needs something and I'm not here._ A year ago he probably wouldn't have trusted her in his place, just out of fear she might try to pawn some of his rare books, or his tea service.

If he did something to really annoy her, she might, but short of that, his belongings were largely safe. He knew that now.

"I'm not gonna be here all day, Wes," Faith replied, waving her hand dismissively. There was an almost scornful note to her voice, but as she stepped into view, her expression didn't entirely live up to it - she was actually sparing him a bit of a smile. She rolled her eyes and shook her head, "I figure if I actually hung around your place for a whole day, I'd have to strangle you."

Wesley held back a laugh, "If you actually stayed around all day, I'd probably let you."

Faith snorted and tossed him a small paper bag. It was slightly warm, and after a moment, he opened it up and saw that it was a blueberry scone, from the bakery near the building that actually made something halfway decent, for an American place.

"I was on my way here, so I figured I'd get you something anyway," Faith explained. "How are you? How long until I can get some use out of my Watcher?"

"I'm doing as well as can be expected, considering I was blown up," Wesley answered, taking the scone out. He looked back to the bookshelf, debating just how best to push himself up so he could get the book he needed. "But I can still be of use, even if I'm stuck like this for now." He took a small bite and enjoyed the taste for a moment, before swallowing. "Thank you - I do appreciate you not going out of your way for this."

"Welcome, I guess," Faith muttered after a moment. "Look, Wes," she said after a moment, more serious. She seemed to try to find the words to carry on, but failed to do so.

Wesley turned back to look at her. With some effort, he turned the wheelchair around and held up his free hand.

"Please, Faith, don't thank me. I'm not sure either of us could handle the mortification," he said, his voice grave for a moment. "I think we can just say at this point, we're even."

"Oh, no, we're not even **close** to even, Wes," Faith disagreed, but her tone and the slight laugh as she finished - the note of relief in both - belied her words once more. "But...yeah. Good plan." She cleared her throat. "Look, while I'm here, anything you need? Amy's sleeping in, and I've got nothing else to do."

"I'm flattered you found time for me," Wesley replied, drolly. He sighed. He hated to admit it, but he could use some assistance. "What about your injuries? All healed, I assume?" She'd only been hurt minorly, between the fight and the explosion.

"All healed up, yeah," Faith grinned. "Slayer healing. I fuckin' love it."

"Well, since you're all better, if you could perhaps... if you could grab a few of the books on the top shelf there?" Wesley gestured. "I'm trying to translate the Scroll of Aberjian, but I'm getting nowhere at the moment."

"Still stuck on that one word? Sand-Shoes, or whatever the fuck it was?" Faith walked over towards him, and the shelf.

"I am," Wesley admitted. "It's proving to be particularly difficult to pin down an exact translation. But I'm sure I'll manage sooner or later."

"What books you need?"

"_Villers' Treatise, Precursor Root Languages _and_ The Feldberg Manuscript_," Wesley listed off. Given the age of the scroll and the prophecies therein, his best bet was to go back all the way to the beginning.

_Now that I think about it, perhaps 'Shanshu' is proto-Bantu?_

"Here ya go," Faith grabbed the books and handed them to Wesley, who moved them to the desk next to him. "So what have you translated? Just that Angel's gonna be part of the big final battle? Last Apocalypse? Armageddon, when the trumpets sound, and Judgement Day and all that shit?"

"So you did go to Sunday School then," Wesley mused. He rather doubted Faith had studied Christian theology of the apocalypse in any other context.

Faith shrugged, "It wasn't all that bad, when I was a kid. Free snacks, and got to be away from whatever foster home they'd stuck me in that week." She looked around, "You got any of that good beer in the fridge?"

"I do," Wesley admitted. More than half the English and Irish beer he bought ended up being drunk by Faith, though if she wasn't drinking it, he wouldn't be buying as much, so it balanced out.

Underage for Americans or not, Wesley did not feel the need to try to stop his Slayer from drinking. As long as she didn't indulge to excess - and apart from the time she'd thought Miss Madison was dead, Faith didn't seem to go in for going far enough to cause any issues - Wesley wasn't going to interfere.

Faith could make her own choices, and while others might consider her choices self-destructive, Wesley had long since learned to accept that Faith, while certainly capable of poor judgement, was wiser than he'd given her credit for, when he first met her.

Quite a bit wiser, all said and done.

"Feel free to take all six bottles. I shouldn't be mixing alcohol and the medications they gave me at the hospital." Pain medications more powerful than over the counter ibuprofen or acetaminophen.

Faith scoffed as she headed into the kitchen, "One more reason to be glad I heal quick." He heard the fridge door open, and the sound of Faith opening a bottle. "Don't think I heard an answer to my question either, Wes," she called back, the sound of her rummaging through his cabinets accompanying her question.

"What on earth are you doing?"

"Lookin' for those British snack cake things you have. Whatcha call 'em, jeff cakes?"

"Jaffa Cakes," Wesley corrected, cringing a little at her mistake on the name. He hesitated for a moment - Jaffa Cakes he had to get on order and delivered here, since there was no shop in Sunnydale that sold them.

"The cupboard above the sink, middle shelf," he eventually called out to her, "Do try not to take too many. They're not easy to get in this colonial backwater town of yours, you know."

"Hey, watch it!" Faith replied, with mock-anger. "Keep that up and I'll toss this box of Ceylon Pekoe," except Faith pronounced it 'See-lon Peck-oh', "into Sunnydale Harbor."

"How very Bostonian of you," Wesley replied dryly. Faith came back out of the kitchen, beer in one hand, and a few Jaffa Cakes in the other. "But in answer to your question, since I'm still stuck on that one word, I haven't made much progress on Angel himself. Nor determining what Wolfram and Hart raised in the box. Though, come 2003, you and Buffy might need to take a visit to Reseda."

"Yeah? To kill what?" Faith immediately seemed interested.

"The Beast of Amalfi, apparently. A razor-toothed, six-eyed harbinger of death. Given how much time we have, I've put off determining any more details about it for now." Wesley shrugged. "Or perhaps Angel can handle it himself. Los Angeles does seem to be his 'turf' now, so to speak."

"If he can't, I'm sure you and your old books will tell us how we kill this Beast thing, same as everything else," Faith said confidently. "That's the other thing you're good for, ya know. Other than providing cover from bombs." She took another sip from her beer and started in on one of the cakes, before leaning against the wall.

"Since you're an invalid and all for a few weeks, I figure I can come by and help you out a bit, every now and then. As long as I'm not too busy. Anything else you need while I'm here?" Faith made it sound casual, as if she had no real regard for his welfare - but if she truly had no regard, she wouldn't be here offering to help, now, would she?

"Well, if you insist? I could use a bit of assistance rearranging a few items of furniture to make it easier to move around in this chair," Wesley said, then explained what he needed.

**May 24th, 2000**

**Faith's Apartment, Sunnydale**

By the time Faith got back from Wesley's place, Amy was just getting dressed after using her shower.

_Damn it, if I'd walked a bit faster, I could have gotten here when she was all wet and naked._ Not that Faith had any difficulty seeing Amy naked, if that was what she wanted.

Just as her girlfriend had stayed over at her place half the time while in college, Amy was here half the time, or thereabouts, even if she technically lived with her dad still. Faith hadn't exactly expected Amy to be here when she arrived last night - or early morning, whatever - from L.A. But her girlfriend had been here, half asleep, waiting up for her.

Faith had been too tired for them to do much, after the day she'd had in L.A., but...

Well, even when they weren't fucking, she liked having Amy in the same bed with her.

"All awake now, Sleeping Beauty?" Faith asked, grinning as she walked up to her girlfriend and gave her a quick kiss - one that Amy quickly deepened, putting her hand on Faith's back and pressing against her. Faith had no problem with that and returned it, their lips locked, one hand roaming down Amy's back, reaching and then lightly squeezing her ass until they both had to pull back for air.

"Morning," Amy murmured, resting her forehead gently against Faith's, and Faith tried to ignore the many warm fuzzies that gave her.

_Damn it, I do have a rep to maintain!_

"Morning," Faith agreed softly, smiling like a fucking idiot in love - which she was - at her girlfriend. "Didn't think you'd be awake just yet."

Amy shrugged, "Only woke up... I dunno, half an hour ago? I don't have to go to classes right now, so I'm all in for sleeping in. I'm surprised you were gone - you were super tired last night."

"Nearly being blown up and then fighting demons and breaking some bastard lawyer's hand in several places will do that to you," Faith laughed, dropping down to sit on her bed.

"You got blown up? Faith, what the -"

"Nearly," Faith interrupted, before Amy could get too worked up with concern. It was... well, it was cute, sometimes, but the last thing Amy needed was to get wound up tight over her getting hurt when she hadn't.

"It's kind of a long story, but the short version is the bad guys in L.A. left a bomb in Angel's place, Wes and I walked in, saw the bomb right before it went off - and Wes, being the fucking idiot he was, pushed me aside, jumped and covered me and took most of the blast instead."

_I could have healed faster than him._ Still, faster healing or not, she still got cut up like anyone, so she'd probably be in a wheelchair - then again, she'd have unable to have taken on the enemy later on, alongside Angel, which would have left him two on one when the backup showed up.

But, she wouldn't have been in a wheelchair as long as Wes was gonna be.

It was still so fucking **stupid** of him. Guy could have gotten himself... fucking killed. She didn't want to have to try to break in another Watcher.

She'd finally gotten Wesley around to being... you know, not... terrible, and shit. Didn't mind having him around at all, sometimes.

"And you're okay? And for that matter, is Wesley alright?"

"I am, yeah, and so is Wes." Faith nodded. "You can check me yourself, you know!" She smirked, and spread her arms a bit, so Amy could come and feel all over her if she wanted. Amy laughed and walked up to her, putting her arms on Faith's waist and leaning in to give her a quick kiss, voice soft.

"Good. I like you intact." But, unfortunately, Amy didn't take Faith's suggestion to check for herself, though she stayed close even as both of them let their arms fall to their sides. "So... what exactly happened? You said Wes was going to help Angel with a translation?"

"Yup. Some ancient scroll. Full of prophecies. Angel stole it off a gang of evil demon lawyers he's been fighting all year." Faith rolled her eyes. "It probably could have been an ancient fucking cookbook, and he'd have been just as excited. Nerd loves his ancient books and scrolls."

"And if someone offered you a fancy new knife, could you have pried yourself away from it?" Amy pointed out, echoing Faith's own thoughts from earlier. "I probably wouldn't turn down a book of new spells and rituals. Or a brownie."

Her stomach actually rumbled right after she said that, and so Amy laughed a bit ruefully. "I suppose I'll need to get breakfast after we're done here. Late breakfast, anyway." She sat down next to Faith. "So, ancient prophecies, evil demon lawyers, bombs... even by Sunnydale standards, that doesn't sound like a normal day."

"No, not really," Faith admitted. "Mostly the bomb and lawyers part, of course. But I did get to break a guy's hand, arm and fingers," Amy raised an eyebrow, and Faith waved a hand dismissively. "He was evil. Literally. Summoned some evil... thing. Had the scroll that they stole back, and left the bomb behind."

Faith sighed, "I was angry, y'know, about how they hurt Wes. Pissed, even. Just... don't tell Wes that."

Amy actually _giggled_, covering her mouth like some little kid saying a dirty word while she did so. "Right. Because you can't have Wes - or anyone else - thinking big tough Faith actually _gives a shit_."

Amy put a hand on Faith's shoulder, smiling. "Goddess, I love you." She giggled again. "I imagine Wes didn't want you thanking him, either."

"No, thank fuckin' God," Faith admitted after a moment, unable to stop herself from smiling - mostly at Amy laughing, rather than at what her girlfriend was laughing about. She liked seeing Amy laugh and smile and all that sappy as fuck shit. "We decided to just not talk about it."

Amy's stomach rumbled again, and she stood up, stretching a bit, raising her arms above her head and pulling her shirt up a little - Faith watched that little strip of skin be exposed for a moment.

"Why don't you tell me the highlights of your adventure in L.A. while we head down to the Doublemeat Palace, so we can get some breakfast. You want anything?" Amy offered.

Faith stood, "Yeah, I could eat."

As they walked towards the door, Faith started detailing what had happened in L.A. "So, Angel's got a little gang of his own helping him - there's this Irish guy, half-demon, half-human, drinks even more than I do, gets visions. 'Migraines with pictures' he calls them, but still..."

**June 17th, 2000**

**Wesley's Apartment, Sunnydale**

"The translation is finished, and I'll be mailing you the full translation by courier soon," Wesley told Angel over the phone. "But I thought I should tell you the most... relevant part of the prophecy, in regards to you, directly."

"And? What is it?" Angel asked, sounding surprisingly incurious about the prophecy, though that could mean he was just hiding his reaction, as unexpressive as the vampire could be.

Even as Wesley hesitated a moment to find the best way to phrase - and the best way to qualify - what he was about to say, the Watcher heard the sound of the door to his apartment opening. He turned around for a moment, then returned his attention to the translation on his desk upon seeing that it was Faith and Miss Madison.

"With all the attendant caveats about the difficulties of translation and the possibility that I'm misinterpreting some rather difficult and vague terminology," not to mention the absurdly poetic nature of parts of the Scrolls, "the short version, Angel, is that your destiny, apparently, is to become human."

Angel said nothing for a moment, but Wesley heard Faith mutter 'what the fuck?' behind him.

After another long moment, Angel finally spoke up. "Explain."

"There's not all that much to explain - apparently, when the final battle prophesised in the Scrolls takes place, and you play your part in it, what will ultimately happen is that you will die... but only after living. Because a thing that isn't alive - well, it doesn't die." Wesley explained, then cleared his throat, taking a quick sip of his tea.

"Without getting too technical, Angel, the shanshu - the phrasing used to describe your death has the very clear meaning of 'dying after living a natural life'. From the other context, the meaning is quite clear to me - though you are, of course, free to have someone else check my work for you." Wesley rather doubted Angel would have anyone who could do it available to him - at least, anyone the ensouled vampire could actually trust. But he was certain about his translation - or as certain as anyone could be, given the difficulties it posed.

"Whenever the final battle occurs, assuming you play your role in it on the side of good? Your reward, it seems, will be to become a human thereafter," Wesley went on, ignoring the shocked sounds coming from Faith and Amy as they listened to his half of the conversation.

Angel was silent for another long moment, before asking, "Human? As in, a _normal_ human?"

"Yes. Mortal in every way, presumably," Wesley repeated.

"That... well. That's... something," Angel said, understating things, but there did seem to be an almost... well, Wesley would hesitate to call it hopeful, note in the vampire's voice, but what else could he call it? "What does it say about the battle itself?"

_Ah yes. Miss Summers._ Well, if Angel were to become human, there would no longer be anything standing between him and the Slayer, at least cosmically speaking.

"Not as much as one might like. The Scrolls contained a few unhelpfully nonspecific signs foretelling its arrival, and some details that, quite frankly, make no sense to me - though I imagine they'll make sense once they happen, of course - and... unfortunately, nothing about when exactly all this will actually happen. It could be tomorrow, it could be a hundred years from now." Or significantly longer.

"Right. And what about whatever Wolfram and Hart raised in that box?"

"Not much. But... the implication appears to be that the threat it poses will be as much... spiritual, as physical. Beyond that?" Wesley shook his head. "I haven't been able to identify the ritual used, even given that we have the words and terms of it laid out in the scrolls themselves. I intend to keep looking when I can, but nothing I've found so far elaborates as to the ritual's intent or origins."

Angel made a vaguely sigh-like noise. "Alright. And you're sending the full translation?"

"As soon as I can - today, tomorrow at the latest," Wesley confirmed.

"Well, if I have more questions after I've read it, I'll call you," Angel replied, then he hung up. Wesley looked at the phone, then returned it to the cradle, before turning around to look at Faith and Amy. Faith, especially, looked about to explode with questions.

"Wait, so - that's - Angel's gonna become a real boy one day?" Faith said, quickly, and then laughed. "You've _got_ to be kidding, right? Pulling a joke on him?"

Wesley raised an eyebrow, "Really? Faith, in all the time we've known each other-"

Faith rolled her eyes, scoffing. "Yeah, yeah, no sense of humor, and you wouldn't joke about something so important." She crossed her arms in front of her. "Have I told you you're a real fuckin' stick in the mud, Wes?"

"Only approximately two hundred and fifteen times, give or take," Wesley drawled, smirking. "And as far as my translation goes, I'm quite confident that yes... Angel will become a human being, after the final battle he's destined for. Assuming he survives it."

"So... by final battle," Amy asked, furrowing her brow, "Like, final final? No more demons, ever?"

"Unlikely. As you've learned from living in Sunnydale, apocalypse is a word that has a plural version. But what Angel is destined to face - it will be a very significant battle that could change the fate of millions, or more, most likely."

"Well, guess that means it won't put Buffy and me out of work, at least," Faith laughed. Then she laughed again, softer this time. "Angel. Human. I wonder what B will do if she's still around, when that happens?"

"Well, she seems like she's moved on with Riley in a pretty major way, by this point," Amy pointed out. Then she grew a touch wistful, or at least, swept up in it all, "Still... her and Angel? From what I've heard, they really did have that grand, epic romance novel sort of love, so maybe..."

"Perhaps it's best we don't mention the possibility to Buffy, and needlessly get her hopes up," Wesley interjected. "Until it happens - which, as I said to Angel, could happen either soon, or many years or even generations from now - there's no need to distract her with the prospect."

"You just don't want her hesitating to kill him if the guy goes evil again, before the big battle," Faith accused.

Wesley shrugged, "The possibility has crossed my mind," he admitted. "But I also think it's Angel's business if he tells her, and while Miss Summers isn't my Slayer, I do have to at least consider her mental state a little. She has, as Miss Madison says, largely moved on from Angel. But... well, do you really want to see her regress on that front, Faith?" Wesley looked her in the eyes.

"No..." Faith admitted after a moment, anger clear in her tone, in the way she dropped her arms to her sides. "Fuck," she muttered. "But... it doesn't sit right with me, making decisions for her like that. Especially when it's a Watcher doing it. Even you."

"I'm not going to try to stop you from telling her, if you decide to do so, but I would suggest you think about the effect it will have on the girl," Wesley replied slowly. "Honestly, Faith. Do you really think it's a good idea, all things considered?"

"Hell, no," Faith replied, shaking her head. "But it's not my call to make."

"I think Wesley's right - it's Angel's call," Amy suggested, stepping a bit in between them. This was not the first time Faith's girlfriend had played peacemaker to stop an argument between him and his Slayer from taking an extended length of time - even if they never got past sarcasm and name-calling, their back and forths could be quite prolonged. "It's his life and his business who he wants to know about this, right?"

"Maybe," Faith admitted. Then she scoffed, "I'll think about it. Meantime, Wes, you got that powder those Vulkorian demons are allergic to? You said you'd mix it up this morning." Faith jerked her thumb at Amy. "Amy had the idea of using a little wind spell to blow it into their faces faster."

"Yes. So you're still planning on making a run on their den tonight? Probably a good time for it, they tend to prefer the early pre-dawn hours, rather than just after sunset," Wesley stood and pulled two small cloth bags from behind a book on the shelf, tossing them both to Faith, who handed one to Amy.

Then Wes took one down for himself, and retrieved his crossbow from a lower shelf, where it sat looking - to anyone who might not be in the know - like an odd conversation piece on display. He loaded a steel, barbed head into the weapon, rather than a sharpened wooden bolt, grabbing more bolts to reload it as needed.

"Shall we?" Amy asked with a grin.

"Six dead demons, coming right up," Faith grinned back as she turned around, heading out, with himself and Amy in tow.


End file.
